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User blog:Squibstress/Epithalamium - Chapter 52
Title: Epithalamium Author: Squibstress Rating: MA Genre: Drama, romance Warning/s: Explicit sexual situations; teacher-student relationship (of-age); language, violence Published: 23/05/2017 Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling. Chapter Fifty-Two "I used every precaution with that blasted necklace." As Albus stepped out onto the fourth floor of St Mungo's, he bumped into a petite, dark-haired witch who was hurrying to the lift, head down. When she looked up, he recognised her as Natasha Meadowes and put a steadying hand on her shoulder. "Professor Dumbledore!" she exclaimed. "Please excuse me, Mrs Meadowes," Albus said. When the lift doors closed behind him, he added, "And now I've caused you to miss your lift. I am sorry. How is Julian?" "He is well, other than his eyes," Natasha replied in her lightly accented English. "Have they discovered the cause of his affliction yet?" "No, Professor. The Healers are with him now, making some more tests. I'm afraid you will have to wait if you want to see him." "Ah. Well, then, perhaps you would permit me to escort you home, if that is your destination." "Home, yes," she said. "Anton is waiting for news. But you mustn't disturb yourself, Professor. I will be taking the Knight Bus back to Aberdeen, so it may take some time." Albus recalled that Julian had told him that his wife had had little magical schooling, thanks to the upheavals in Russia during her youth. It was unlikely she could Apparate. He said, "I would be honoured if you would permit me to provide you with a Side-Along Apparition, Mrs Meadowes. I believe I remember your home well enough to get us there safely." "That would be very kind, Professor, thank you." Once Natasha was safely back home, Albus returned to St Mungo's. It was another twenty minutes before a grim-faced Healer emerged from Julian's room, followed by a very young man wearing the pale-yellow robes of a Healer-in-training. The Healer gave Albus a terse nod as she swept by, but the trainee stopped, recognising his former Transfiguration teacher. After a moment's thought, Albus recognised him as well. No wonder he looked so young; the fellow had been in Albus's N.E.W.T. class only two or three years before. He groped for the boy's name for a moment. Finding it, he said, "Good afternoon, Mr Smethwyk. Can you tell me, how is Professor Meadowes?" The young man looked pleased to be addressed on a professional matter by his former teacher. "He's stable, I think, Professor Dumbledore. He—" The Healer interrupted, her voice sharp and impatient. "Get moving, Smethwyk. We've four more patients to see, and then I'll want your presentation on that missed Animagus transformation." "Right away, Healer Zabini," Smethwyk said with an apologetic smile at Albus, who returned it with a respectful incline of his head at the Healer-to-be. Albus pushed open the heavy door to the ward, which contained six beds, only four of which were occupied. Two of the ward's other occupants appeared to be sleeping, while another, who was covered with brown feathers and had a flesh-coloured beak where his nose and mouth should have been, was lying against the pillow, clucking softly. Albus gave him a polite nod as he passed, but the man didn't acknowledge it. Julian was in the bed farthest from the door, sitting up. He looked perfectly normal, except for the white bandage covering his eyes. Albus spoke as he approached, so as not to startle him. "Julian, it's Albus." "Albus, thank you for coming." "I would have been here sooner, but I was away from the castle when the owl came." He pulled the worn chair that sat at the foot of the bed towards him and said, "I'll just give us a bit of privacy, if you don't mind." He pulled the curtain around the bed and sat. He leant close to Julian and asked, "Can you tell me what happened?" Julian said, "I don't know, and that's the hell of it. I went to bed yesterday, normal as any night, and when I opened my eyes this morning, I couldn't see anything, not even a glimmer of light." There was anguish in his voice when he said, "Albus. I swear to you, I used every precaution with that blasted necklace. There was no curse on it that I could detect, not even the hint of a charm." "I'm sure you were very thorough," Albus said. "Can you tell me which spells you used on it?" "All the usual suspects, and a few unusual ones. Revelio Umbram Cruoris, Deschideţi-vă Secretele Întunecate ... some Creole spells. There's a list with the results in the top drawer of my desk. Albus, there was nothing, I swear—" "I know, Julian. This wasn't your fault. Where is the necklace now? "Also locked in my desk in the Defence classroom. Bottom left drawer. Warded, too." "Good man." There was a short, awkward silence, then Albus asked, "Have the Healers been able to give you a prognosis?" Julian sat back against the pillows. "No." He gave a mirthless laugh. "They're as in the dark as I am." Albus couldn't smile at the jest. "Rest assured, Julian, that you will have the best care, the best Healers, no matter what it takes." "Thank you, Albus." "If there's anything you need in the meantime, don't hesitate to contact me." "If you would ..." "Yes?" "Check in on Natasha and Anton from time to time. While I'm here? She's a bit ... well, she's a bit lost in our world. She does fine, usually, but with me in here she might be a little at sea. Maybe you could see that my remaining pay packet is exchanged and deposited in our Muggle bank. The Clydesdale Bank, the one in Union Street." "Of course. But what do you mean, 'remaining pay packet'?" "Well, clearly I won't be able to teach, at least for some time." "Yes, but even if ... forgive me, but even if you do not regain your sight, you will be paid through the end of your contract. Which doesn't end until June of 1959, I believe. And in that case, you will also receive your casualty payment." "That's very generous." "It's in your contract, Julian. People get hurt in our line of work. It's unavoidable. It only makes sense to take care of them when it happens." "Yes, but you said it wasn't exactly school business—" "Nevertheless, it was something I asked you to do. As Headmaster. Although it might be best not to mention what I told you about the necklace's provenance, except to your Healers, of course." Albus didn't want the Board of Governors discovering that the accident had been a result of a personal favour he'd asked of Julian. He hoped they wouldn't attempt to deny Julian the payment of his salary and insurance benefit in any case, but Albus didn't want to risk it. He also didn't want anyone to discover that the necklace had been meant for Minerva. That would open up all sorts of questions he would prefer to keep private. He left Julian with a promise to be back within the week to visit, either at Mungo's or at Julian's house, should he be released in the next few days. He also left with a thousand questions. What to tell Minerva? That quandary plagued him almost as much as the question of exactly what had happened to Julian. He hadn't told her about his duel with Tom Riddle. He didn't want to frighten her needlessly, but Julian's accident would be the talk of the school in the coming weeks. He had no doubt that whatever he told the rest of the staff, she would press for more information. And she had a right to know that the necklace that had probably blinded Julian had been meant for her, didn't she? If he hadn't intercepted it, would it be Minerva sitting in that hospital bed? I will kill Riddle. The thought came to him, simple and surprisingly comforting. Tom Riddle intended to harm Minerva. Tom Riddle would die. What Albus had told Riddle during the duel—that he'd end up in Azkaban if the necklace turned out to be cursed—was far from certain. If Julian had been unable to find a curse on the necklace, the odds were good that none of MLE's investigators would either. If so, Riddle would walk free, and while Albus could use his connections to keep an eye on him, it wouldn't be enough to let Albus sleep soundly at night. Do it now, before he grows any stronger. It would be easy to kill him. Albus would only need to think about what might happen the next time Riddle tried to get at Minerva, and his Avada Kedavra would tear through any defence Riddle could mount. Whatever the young man had been doing in the years since leaving school, he was still no match for Albus Dumbledore, of that Albus was certain. And Riddle knew it too. The thought drew Albus up short for a moment. Why would Riddle have risked it? He obviously knew what Minerva meant to Albus; he had to know that Albus would come after him with all the wrath of hell behind him if he managed to hurt her. And if he hadn't known before, Albus had told him as much during the duel. What Riddle had said was true: if Albus killed him without authorisation from the Wizengamot, it would mean life in prison, no matter what services Albus had performed in the past. Hadn't Albus himself often insisted on an absolutely fair application of justice? And if his opinion on the matter hadn't always been heeded in the past, he was quite certain his opponents in the Wizengamot would be eager to follow it when the great Albus Dumbledore was the one chained in the Chair of the Accused. Just like his father, he would die in Azkaban. And he would never see Minerva again, unless they married before he was sentenced. In which case she would be permitted a monthly visit, during which they would talk in a cold, damp visitation room, unable to touch, guarded by Dementors. Albus's mother had gone to visit her husband for the first few months after he'd been sentenced, but then she stopped, and she'd never taken her children to see their father. As a boy, Albus had resented that; he'd never got the chance to say a proper goodbye. Later, when he'd been to investigate the prison for himself as a member of the Wizengamot, he'd understood. Any place in which Dementors dwelt was no place for a child, even for an hour. No. In the event that he went to Azkaban, Minerva would not step foot on that godforsaken rock. There would be no Ministry-holding-cell wedding. She'd stay free of him. When he got back to Hogwarts, he immediately dispatched an owl to Minerva telling her he would be unavailable for their Saturday-night chess game. He would see her tomorrow at the cottage, he wrote, unless circumstances precluded it. She would understand as soon as she read the second note, the one he would send to all the staff requesting they attend an emergency meeting the following morning. After the messages were sent, Albus made a brief stop in his quarters, then went to the third floor and used the Headmaster's password to open the door to the Defence classroom. There was a notebook with a black cover in the top drawer, and Albus leafed through it until he found the list of spells Julian had used. There were twelve pages of notes in the Defence master's small, neat hand, outlining the results of many spells Albus recognised and quite a few that he didn't. Julian was a master of the arcana of Dark Magic, and he had been very thorough indeed. Albus used his wand to remove the pages from the book, Shrinking them and putting them in his robe pocket. He carefully dismantled the wards Julian had told him about from the bottom left drawer of the desk and opened it. The jewellery case was inside, sitting, seemingly benign, on top of several notebooks identical to the one on the desk. Albus withdrew from his pocket the charmed dragon-hide gloves he had retrieved from his quarters and put them on. Taking the jewellery case and holding it away from his body, he Disillusioned himself. He moved swiftly down the corridor and across to the west wing, then through a door to enter a dark, musty hallway that hadn't been used since before Albus had come to teach at Hogwarts. The room at the end of the hallway was small and empty, with only a single, small window to provide illumination. Albus Vanished the mouldy hangings that still clung to the walls. He conjured a small ball of light to see by, then a sheet of steel, which he Stuck to the wall, covering over the window. He did the same for the door behind him. He withdrew the jewellery box and placed it on the floor against the far wall. Withdrawing his wand, he backed up to the covered-over door and began. "Exoritor Ignes Animante!" A great ball of orange-and-yellow flame erupted from the end of Albus's wand. He could feel the heat of it, smell his beard beginning to singe, and he had to squint as the sudden brightness stung his eyes. The flame took on the shape of a lion's head and began to snap at Albus, but he held his ground, focussing all his power on controlling it. "Obtemporate Mihi!" he boomed, and the fire-lion drew back. Albus reached deep within his magic. The feeling of power siphoning up through his wand was nearly physical; it was pleasurable, almost like the building of an orgasm, and he had to keep himself from allowing it to simply pull him along with it and losing control. He pointed the wand at the fire-lion and thrust it towards where he knew the jewellery box was sitting, although he could no longer see it through the smoke and flame. The floor was burning wherever the lion had touched it, but Albus ignored it to concentrate on his task. The lion flew at the jewellery box, which disappeared into its fiery maw, then it moved around the walls, searching for something flammable to devour, finding only stone and steel. Albus took a few steps towards where the jewellery box had been; nothing remained. He felt a searing heat at his back, and he realised that even that few seconds' distraction might now cost him his life. He whipped around and brandished his wand at the lion, whose infernal claws had caught the tail of Albus's robes, and once again, he drew on the great store of magic that coursed through him. "Ad Infernum! Ad Umbras!" The lion roared, then seemed to draw back upon itself, opening its great mouth. It swallowed itself and was gone. Albus slipped off his outer robe, which was burning in little eddies of flame where the fire-lion had touched it. He felt his magic release, and for a moment he let himself sag with exhaustion and the pain of the burns on his legs. But only for a moment. There was a path of hot flame where the lion had set the wooden floorboards alight, and they formed a ring around Albus. He garnered his strength again, drew his wand, cast a Bubble-Head Charm, and with a flick of his wand, swept the burning robe to join the other flames. Water would not douse Fiendfyre, so he used the same spell he had used to Vanish Tom's fire-dragon, using his wand to pull all the oxygen from the atmosphere. The fire on the floor went out after a few moments, and Albus quickly Vanished the steel plank from the window, blasting it open with a switch of his wand. A cold wind flooded into the room, and Albus allowed the air to refill with oxygen, then ended his Bubble-Head Charm. He went over to where the jewellery box had been and knelt down, ignoring the searing pain in his legs. There was nothing left of it but a residue of ash and a tiny lump of tarry-looking substance that had undoubtedly been the necklace. Albus Vanished it, then did the same for the plate over the door. He conjured a plain teaching robe to cover his singed under-robe and went back to his office to heal his burns and consider how he might rid the world of Tom Riddle. ~oOo~ "How long is he going to be?" Macnair groused. "We've been waiting nigh on two hours already, and I'm hungry." "Shut it," said Rufinus Lestrange. "You'll wait as long as it takes and longer. The Dark Lord will come in his own time." He added, "Or you could just skip the meeting and go fill your belly. Maybe get a taste of what Carrow over there got when he fucked up and almost got himself arrested last week." He crooked his thumb at a short, pasty-faced wizard with thinning blonde hair who startled at the sound of his name. Macnair glared at Lestrange but said nothing more. The small group sat around the table without speaking for the next few minutes, and the only sound punctuating the silence was the intermittent growling of Macnair's empty stomach. Every time it made a noise, he looked around guiltily, as if afraid someone might decide it was another complaint about the Dark Lord's tardiness. The silence broke when Megaera Nott burst into the room, waving a piece of parchment in front of her. "He's gone!" she cried. "What do you mean, 'gone'?" asked her husband, standing. "An owl just delivered this," Megaera said, holding the parchment out to him. "The Dark Lord says—" Rufinus stood, holding out his hand for the scroll, saying, "I'll take that, Mrs Nott." She hesitated only a moment, then handed it to Lestrange rather than to her husband, who sat back down without another word. Lestrange opened the scroll and scanned it. He looked up and around at his comrades. "It seems the Dark Lord has decided to disappear for a time," he said, rolling up the parchment. There were nervous glances around the table, but no one spoke. "He has decided to continue his studies abroad, the better to prepare for what is to come, he writes. We are not to look for him; he will contact us according to his need. He instructs us to continue with our plans to infiltrate the Ministry and to stay true to his cause, but we are to make no definitive moves until his return." Rufinus looked around at the other Death Eaters. "The penalty for disobedience will be severe." Megaera glanced at her brother, Orcus. He was still weak and shaky from the hours he'd spent under the Dark Lord's wand after having been questioned by MLE in connection with a spate of Muggle-baiting. He'd thought the Dark Lord would be pleased—what was all this for if not to set wizards in their rightful place over Muggles?—but Voldemort had been furious. Poor, stupid Orcus, Megaera thought. All he'd done was to draw attention to himself and, by extension, his associates. And the Dark Lord's subsequent wrath had been far worse than anything the Aurors could dish out. She still heard her brother's screams in her sleep a week later. If the Dark Lord was gone, so much the better, she thought. He'd been their "guest" for nearly a year, and they'd gained nothing by it. Rufinus Lestrange was still his favourite, despite everything Sebastian had done for him. The Dark Bloody Lord couldn't get far enough away for her taste. She hoped he'd never return. The baby inside her kicked, and she placed a protective hand on her belly. Lestrange said, "The Dark Lord instructs me to take charge of our little organisation in his absence." "Why you?" said Avery. "I've been with him just as long." "Perhaps because I don't meet the Dark Lord's orders with foolish questions," retorted Lestrange. Mulciber was the only one to voice the question they all had. "So, what do we do now?" "Exactly as the Dark Lord says," replied Rufinus. "We plan. We watch. We wait." "For how long?" asked Romulus Lestrange. When his brother turned a sharp gaze on him, he amended his question. "I mean, how long does the Dark Lord say he'll be away?" "He doesn't," said Rufinus. "And it doesn't matter. We keep faith as long as it takes to see the Dark Lord triumphant. Does anyone disagree?" Nobody spoke. ~oOo~ Voldemort stepped out into the noisy streets of Muggle Cairo, his heart lighter than it had been since the duel with Dumbledore. The prospect of discovery always excited him, and he'd never been to Egypt before. There were secrets here, he thought. Ancient secrets of life and death, and he intended to unlock them. The memory of the duel still pricked at him, though. The necklace had been a mistake. Voldemort didn't make mistakes, but Tom Riddle was still capable of error. It was time to bury Tom Riddle once and for all, the man along with his father's miserable name. He'd assumed a new name, and now it was time to complete his transformation. Angering Dumbledore before he'd finished, that was Riddle's gravest error. The misstep of a man still tethered by the past. When he'd discovered the location of Minerva's house—Rosier was friendly with the Deputy Head of Wizengamot Services, who kept the tax records—he'd been unable to resist the idea of leaving her a little wedding present. And somehow, Dumbledore had known and had shown up in time to intercept him. It seemed the old man had more spies than Tom had thought. He'd have to remind Lestrange to be alert for them. The joke of it was that there had been no curse on the necklace. Tom hadn't wanted to hurt Minerva—not physically—but he'd wanted to scare her a little, remind her that he was still there, still watching and waiting. But Dumbledore wouldn't believe that. Not now, certainly. That curse, Tom's—Voldemort's—brilliant idea for keeping Dumbledore's students from learning too much defence had struck at precisely the wrong time. Voldemort had known the moment he'd read the story in the Daily Prophet about Professor Meadowes's "accident" that Dumbledore would blame Tom and the necklace. Tom had no doubt that Dumbledore would come after him now. Dumbledore was a liar and a lecher, and he would do whatever it took to keep Minerva McGonagall—and his dirty little secret—safe. Did that include killing? Dumbledore couldn't kill him, Tom reassured himself. Not with the Horcruxes in place. The old man's words during their duel suddenly came back to him. "I don't need to kill you, Tom." What did he mean? There were curses, Tom knew. Curses that condemned a man to torment while he lived—which, in Voldemort's case, would be forever. Voldemort didn't know them, not yet, but did Dumbledore? And if he did, would he use them? No. It was a bluff. Wasn't it? No matter, Tom told himself. Dumbledore was merely a distraction now. Tom would complete his transformation far from the old man's reach. He could hide himself so completely that even Dumbledore would find no trace of him. A few months more of study, a few years, even, and the secrets of life and death and everything in between would be his—Voldemort's—and he need never fear anyone again. Not even Albus Dumbledore. Tom pulled the hood of his djellaba over his head and moved quietly down the bustling street, just another shrouded figure, seeking his fortune in the dust of an ancient city. ← Back to Chapter 51 On to Chapter 53 → Category:Chapters of Epithalamium